


Marker

by duckiesandlemons



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckiesandlemons/pseuds/duckiesandlemons
Summary: Sento writes on Ryuuga twice.  Once, by accident, and then again on purpose.





	Marker

**Author's Note:**

> yah uhh this wasn't supposed to be sad but at some point it became The Sad uHM

Sento writes on Ryuuga a total of two times.

Once is by accident.

The other is on purpose.

The first time happens when Sento is lost in one of his inventions again.  Equation after equation gets written out, long strings of numbers and letters and symbols that adorn the walls like fancy decoration until Sento simply runs out of space.  His marker hits the shirt on Ryuuga’s back, tip dragging down, over, looping, followed by a harsh slash mark that has Ryuuga yelping and Kiryuu  _ I swear to all that’s holy will you fucking stop! _

Sento stops.

He stops and stares and furrows his brow until he snorts in derision because his concentration is broken.  “Can’t you be a bit more quiet?” he asks, tossing the marker over his shoulder.  “I’m trying to think--now, if I just do this…”

Ryuuga, stopping all attempts to peer over his shoulder to see what it is that Sento had written, stares at him with absolute indignance.

The second time happens when Ryuuga is on his back, hands gripping at Sento’s hips while the other grinds against him in desperation seen only in a man who wants to forget everything (something).  Ryuuga’s shirt had been thrown to the wayside, pants undone just enough for Sento to get at his dick, and Ryuuga isn’t even allowed to move because Sento’s in control here, Sento is the one who needs this, and Ryuuga doesn’t even know how to feel about just being a convenient fuck.

But he kinda gets it, despite his own idiocy and his own stubbornness.

He kinda gets it.

That’s why the pop of a cap startles Ryuuga.  He doesn’t even know where Sento got the marker or where he hid it, but it’s there in Sento’s hand poised to write and Ryuuga shakes his head.  “Hell no,” he says, adamant.

“But I’ll forget,” Sento responds.

“Tough--god  _ dammit _ , Kiryuu!”

The marker tip isn’t cold, more as it tickles, and Ryuuga thrashes underneath Sento.  He squirms, trying to escape the tip of the marker, but Sento’s thighs (those damn, damn thighs that Ryuuga finds himself weak to) tighten around Ryuuga’s waist.  He rides out each thrash, gasps and moans at accidental thrusts, still working the marker across Ryuuga’s skin.  He writes out shaky lines and dashes, loops that become too big or too small, lines that aren’t supposed to cross overlapping each other--Sento writes like a man possessed.

The tip of the marker passes over Ryuuga’s nipple, bringing out an interesting squeak that causes him to flush from his ears down to his shoulders.  

Sento doesn’t seem to care.  

He keeps writing, keeps sighing and breathing and rolling his hips and  _ damn him, damn him, damn him-- _

Ryuuga’s hand catches Sento’s wrist.  He pulls it away from his body, uncaring of the angry black line that now dances its way across his abdomen like some malformed scar.  Ryuuga pushes, pushes, pushes until Sento’s on his back, hair splayed and legs still locked firmly around Ryuuga.

There is no angel underneath Ryuuga.

Just the devil, regretful of the things he’s done.

“I said stop,” Ryuuga huffs, and kisses Sento so tender and sweet that it makes Sento seize underneath him and shake and tremble until he’s coming undone in Ryuuga’s arms.  

Ryuuga holds him.

He holds him close, fingers dipping into the dips of Sento’s hips, trailing up a knobby spine, until they find hold in his hair and Sento continues to shake, his own hands gripping at Ryuuga until his nails dig in.

It hurts.

It hurts.

After, when Sento is cleaned up and curled (fragile, quiet) up on the bed, Ryuuga looks at the mirror to see what had been scrawled on his chest.  Formulas, equations, garbled apologies that devolve into “I’m sorry” over and over and over again.

Ryuuga sighs, grabbing the washcloth and trying his best to scrub the ink from his skin.

It’s the last time Sento writes on him.


End file.
